At first, well—I just said noAaron Shurin—would be betterHe’s cuter—and a better speakerThan me—he’s written much morePoetry than I ever will—plus hisStudents in SF—they love him soWhile most people—simply despise me

I wish I were back—at home in Key WestMy landlady Faustius—and me on the porchSettling down to our—cognac and cigarsI wish you’d visit me—take a trip to Havana?The Beltway—a small marbleized Tea RoomThis Washington job—so Faggy Bottoms

The New Yorker though—I’m proud to sayIs quibbling with me—as they always doOver an indelicacy—in one of my poemsI guess I’m just—too politically incorrectFor either Cold War—or New World OrderIt’s so difficult sometimes—dearest RobertBeing America’s—proud dyke poet laureate.